


!

by cable69



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cable69/pseuds/cable69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Two of them?” he protests weakly at Chekov. “A goddamn pair?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to ff.net; unedited

Kirk is in his room getting hypothetical papercuts from the sheer amount of documentation he has to do (seriously, who knew running a starship came with an entire deck of filing cabinets) when Chekov blusters through the door and comes to a wheezing halt in front of Kirk’s desk and says something that makes Kirk’s mind go, “!”

“Two of them?” he protests weakly at Chekov. “A goddamn pair?”

“Yes, sir,” says Chekov, eyes so wide he’s evidently trying to eat Kirk with them; Weird image, brain, Kirk thinks at his mind, but all it’s actually saying is, “!!” Which, not helpful, but true.

Kirk sits back hard, feeling his spine crunch against his chair and really not caring. “Okay. Well. And they’re doing what, right now?”

“Arguing, sir,” says Chekov, and Kirk will be damned if “arguing” doesn’t sound like about a zillion other things, namely words like “fucking” and “macking.” “We are afraid to approach zem. We have put zem in room four forty sewen out of concern for our own safety. They are arguing wociferously, sir. And also dangerously. One of them threw a chair at the other.”

“Arguing,” Kirk repeats faintly, to make sure he’s got it right and there really isn’t any fucking or macking going on. A faint breeze could blow him over, about now, just from the mental images.

“Yes, sir. Arguing,” Chekov confirms, enunciating the word through his ridiculous accent.

“Okay.” Kirk rubs his forehead, unsure of basic things like left and right at this point. “Okay. Great. I’ll deal with it, Ensign. Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Keptin.”

As soon as Chekov leaves, Kirk clutches at his twitching heart and tries to convince it not to implode. He’s still thinking something along the lines of “!!!” but now his mind has added shit like “!!!!” and “omgbbq” and “!!!!!” and he needs to find his own off switch very badly and really shouldn’t go see this.

But since he hates himself or something and also because he’s the captain and should be dealing with this shit, he does have to go see this.

So Kirk gets bravely out of his chair, walks out from behind his desk, and trips all the fuck over the corner of his bed. He recovers with minimal cursing and makes his way out the door and down the corridor without crippling himself. He takes a deep, concentrated breath when he comes to the right room and tosses himself inside. He does all of this with a purposeful step. (Despite his twitching hands.)

“Commander Spock,” he starts to say, but the words perish in his throat.

Chekov was not lying. There are two of them. Two Spocks. Standing there. Next to each other.

Kirk’s mind adds another couple of !’s to its previous conjectures, raising the exclamation mark tally to somewhere around eleventy-three kajillion.

He actually feels his blood make a run for his manly bits and tries to restrain it, but for the love of god, there are two of them, what the hell else is he supposed to do other than grow a third leg? Everybody, probably including that bastard Chekov (kid is too smug anyway) knows the captain is stupid in love with his first officer. They’re all probably laughing their flat asses off imagining him trying to deal with this. It’ll be funny later, Kirk’s sure, but right now? Horrifyingly awesome.

Trying not to gulp audibly, Kirk attempts to shield his overexcited crotchular area by stepping smoothly behind a table. His confidence sneaks back a bit when he fails to trip over anything, so he takes a more legitimate look at the two Spocks, having regained power over his eyeballs.

The one on the right is taller than the one on the left, which is the first weird thing (okay maybe not the first, dear god, but definitely one of the initial ones). Kirk is sure that if he averaged their heights, he’d get the height of the original Spock. The one on the right has delicate, pointed ears and harshly upcurved brows. He is stiff as a rock, his hands laced tightly behind his back. His expression is almost hatefully blank: it is as if he is trying to express that he loathed any emotion whatsoever with a painful passion, and how did Spock manage to put a paradox on his face like that?

The Spock on the left, well. Kirk blinks at him.

The Spock on the left is smiling. Okay, it’s a tiny smile, but it’s still a smile. A goddamn grin. A bleeding smirk.

The Spock with the facial expression (what was that about, no seriously) has uncurved ears. And normal eyebrows. And the aforementioned simper. Well, not simper, per se, but Kirk is out of decent synonyms for ‘smile.’ The Spock with the facial expression is oh so clearly a human. He’s curved and rounded and softer than the other Spock, warmer and gentler, and his lips are full.

“What is going on?” begs Kirk. “Didn’t you get split into good and evil? Like me, that one time?”

“I hypothesize that we were divided into our Vulcan and human forms during the transporter accident,” says Vulcan-Spock, with exactly the expression of a chunk of granite. “A fortunate occurrence, since we would not be overly pleased to meet our evil counterpart.”

“Says you,” says human-Spock, giving Vulcan-Spock a ‘get the fuck outta here’ look, and Kirk immediately decides that he likes the human-Spock a lot better, at least because human-Spock doesn’t make Kirk feel like something eighty steps down the evolutionary ladder. “It’d be really scientifically interesting to meet the evil side of yourself. Instead all we get is the other species. And I already know what you’re like. You’re the one in charge most of the time.”

“In charge? That accusation implies that you—” Vulcan-Spock quiets himself with effort, and Kirk finds this preposterously sexy. “You are always like this, you know. Sitting in the back of my mind, quietly pushing me towards the brink of insanity.”

“Insanity?” cries human-Spock, his indignation producing spastic hand gestures. “The brink of fun! You have such a great sense of humor but you’re always like, ‘Hurr, let’s go enforce the rules, hurr.’ You even ignore the awesome science we find sometimes in order to—I don’t even know! Be logical and shit!”

“What,” articulates Kirk, adding Did Spock just say “logical and shit” to his thoughts of !: ad infinitum.

“This is his fault,” says Vulcan-Spock to Kirk, gesticulating proudly-but-accusingly at human-Spock.

“Fuck you!” pouts human-Spock, making full use of those full lips (asldbuiasdfnabfh, thinks Kirk).

“This is neither the time nor the place,” says Vulcan-Spock, prim as a peach.

And now Kirk and human-Spock are full-out drooling at Vulcan-Spock.

“There is a time and a place?” human-Spock says, his face doing a total one-eighty expression-wise and developing something of a lustful pant. Kirk agrees verbally with this statement by making a noise somewhere between a whoop and a whimper.

“I will not dignify that with an answer,” sniffs Vulcan-Spock, placing his nostrils in the air. 

“Okay, remember back at the Academy?” says human-Spock, taking a couple of long steps towards Vulcan-Spock, who is giving human-Spock a “what the fuck are you doing, you insect” look. “When we took that sociology class? And we had that unit on narcissism? I remember us thinking, ‘It would be fun to make out with myself,’ and then feeling so guilty for the thought that we had to meditate for like a year.”

“Uh,” Kirk contributes helpfully. They are both ignoring him more completely than he has ever been ignored in his life and it’s kind of bothering him, but all of the beer in the universe could not bring him to interrupt this.

“The action would be incestuous,” says Vulcan-Spock stiffly. He looks wary, all of a sudden, like human-Spock is cornering him into something and he knows it. “We must work on a cure for whatever has occurred to us. As we did with the captain, we can attempt to cross the annular confinement beam over the biofilter—”

“No, it would be masturbatory. And crossing the annular confinement beam over the biofilter would be as pointless as rewiring the Heisenberg compensator to work through the multiplex pattern buffer instead of the phase transition motherboard. You can’t just ignore the primary energizing coils,” chides human-Spock, and Kirk really and seriously has never been this turned on. “None of that is the point. The point is, we should make out because we’ll never get this opportunity again.”

All Vulcan-Spock can manage is, “That is highly illogical.”

“Why?” says human-Spock, giving Vulcan-Spock The Eyebrow like never before.

“Because?” says Vulcan-Spock, quite defeated. Kirk is basically on the ground, he has melted so hard from the hotness. Human-Spock is obscenely close to Vulcan-Spock; they’re doing that not-touching-so-close-to-each-other-that-they-are-touching,-like,-psychically thing, and has Kirk mentioned how much of a puddle of muh he is?

“Captain,” says human-Spock, totally unexpectedly. He’s not even looking at Kirk but Kirk is sure as fuck looking at him. “Do you think my counterpart and I should take this opportunity to, er, go forth and kink… for science, as it were?”

“Anything for science,” Kirk gabs, amazed he can even form words in his now-liquid state.

“As long as it is for science,” Vulcan-Spock says stolidly, and they’re kissing.

Kirk’s mind gives up on the !’s and moves on to having little neurological seizures.

It’s… Kirk doesn’t even know. They’re fucking eating each other, there’s so much anger and sexual need in there. The Vulcan is biting at the human’s lips, and tearing at the human’s thicker hair, and the human is trying to fight back, shoving his tongue wherever it can reach and clawing at the Vulcan’s back, but the Vulcan is having none of this and shoves the human up against the wall, and as the human collides with it Kirk lets out another noise that doesn’t make sense, and the Vulcan hears it and releases the human and turns around and both Vulcan and human Spock are staring at Kirk and Kirk is probably going to wake up any second now seeing as how he has never, ever wanted to stay in a dream this badly.

“Come,” both Spocks say, fire in their eyes, and Kirk flies across the room to hover woefully, worshipfully in front of them.

“Can I?” he whispers reverently. “Join you?” He feels like he shouldn’t be here: this is something the two Spocks should really have to deal with on their own, since this whole situation is so obviously private and raw and, like human-Spock said earlier, positively masturbatory.

“Of course you can,” says human-Spock, smiling to the very tips of his ears. 

“Most certainly,” says Vulcan-Spock, looking deep, deep down into Kirk’s eyes, and Kirk changes his mind: human-Spock may be a novelty, a really fun new toy, but it’s Vulcan-Spock that Kirk loves, Vulcan-Spock that Kirk would choose over any other being in the world.

“Why?” says Kirk, and instantly wants to slap himself for interrupting this.

“Because you will never again have this opportunity either,” Vulcan-Spock says.

“Although you’ll have half of it as many times as you want, from now on,” human-Spock adds. “It’s about time you know that we love you.”

“You do?” Kirk warbles.

“Significantly more than you can imagine,” says Vulcan-Spock, failing utterly to blink.

“I can imagine quite a l—” Kirk starts before they both lean down to prove him wrong.


End file.
